Today's Thoughts...
As the semester draws to a close, my grading rises with each passing day. I am currently approximately three feet behind—a pile of papers ungraded, tests untouched, and long forgotten group exercises wasting away in the myriad folders and drawers I have crammed them in for the past four months. This is not going to be easy …
But a few gems to break the monotony: An Assignment on Rhetorical Technique. Can you point them out?
Student 1: Education is the tool that can help you step forward. It is like the sun that always lights up the dark. Education is a key. Education is a way. Education is everything.
Student 2: University is like the house of education where I can get the knowledge as much as I want. In addition, University knowladge can be my guide to lead me to get the successful and university knowladge will stay with me all my life. When I have a problem, I can think and then Bing! [insert drawing of a lightbulb] and I can solve all the problems, so education is like a valuable diamond for my life.
Student 3: University is like the ladder you have to go over to your dream. If you want to have a good job, you have to study in university. University is the land of freedom. University is the land of wisdom. And university is the land of everything. Your heart will cry if you do not attend to the university.
Student 4: Education is the heart of knowledge. It has no boundary. It has more than plenty. University is the apex of education. Nowaday, the world is full of competitions. The people struggles like the fish swimming in the vicious ocean. You need to be skillful like a veteran solider in the bloody battlefield. Mistakes could “Bang!” you away from the job like being shot to death. To be survived in evermoving world you need to attend university.
No plagiarism involved. Student 4 also does a mean Elvis impersonation.
EDUCATION! Get it NOW!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Somewhere over the rainbow…
Today's Thoughts...
So Friday was the HUGE Lollipop Night event at school; a seniors good bye party where “lollipop” was the cleverly devised theme. “What is lollipop?” I asked my students. They rolled their eyes and laughed. “Colorful, ajarn!” Ah, but of course. Colorful. Well what if I don’t have anything colorful enough? I wondered. Never fear! The next day, one of our primpedest and chic students strolled in in her clickity heels and long shimmering lashes with a bag of goodies for Elena and myself. We chose our wares separately and tucked him away beneath our desks. Would we be shamed into oblivion by our Atlantic-side peers? Possibly. Oh well.
Friday night came and sheer pandemonium was unleashed. Lollipop photo booths. Students in psychedelic colors—neon green shirts and skirts, yellow hair ribbons and bows, purple shoes, red laces, the works. Elena and I strolled in in eerily matching red dresses with flowers and polka dots respectively.
Impromptu Lollipop Twins. Go figure ;P
We could have never guessed what the night ahead would hold— singing, dance routines, comedy sketches, band sets— all performed, planned, and executed by our remarkable talented students.
It was truly classic.
Pin-ups, lollipops, and scandalous poses-- whole lotta lolli lolli!
Somehow we managed to be on campus from roughly 9am until 10:30pm without so much as batting an eye. Monday starts my last week of classes.
I’m really going to miss this place.
So Friday was the HUGE Lollipop Night event at school; a seniors good bye party where “lollipop” was the cleverly devised theme. “What is lollipop?” I asked my students. They rolled their eyes and laughed. “Colorful, ajarn!” Ah, but of course. Colorful. Well what if I don’t have anything colorful enough? I wondered. Never fear! The next day, one of our primpedest and chic students strolled in in her clickity heels and long shimmering lashes with a bag of goodies for Elena and myself. We chose our wares separately and tucked him away beneath our desks. Would we be shamed into oblivion by our Atlantic-side peers? Possibly. Oh well.
Friday night came and sheer pandemonium was unleashed. Lollipop photo booths. Students in psychedelic colors—neon green shirts and skirts, yellow hair ribbons and bows, purple shoes, red laces, the works. Elena and I strolled in in eerily matching red dresses with flowers and polka dots respectively.
Impromptu Lollipop Twins. Go figure ;P
We could have never guessed what the night ahead would hold— singing, dance routines, comedy sketches, band sets— all performed, planned, and executed by our remarkable talented students.
It was truly classic.
Pin-ups, lollipops, and scandalous poses-- whole lotta lolli lolli!
Somehow we managed to be on campus from roughly 9am until 10:30pm without so much as batting an eye. Monday starts my last week of classes.
I’m really going to miss this place.
Friday, February 12, 2010
My Funny Walentine
Today's Thoughts...
Valentine's Day is on Sunday. At school, it is today.
This post just made its way to my wall from one of my loving students:
"Hi !! my beloved teacher ::
have a good weekend,on the other hand, Tmr i must join a sufficient economy of our faculty :: wooo !! miss u so much " see u on Monday ^^"
Did I mention I just saw her two hours ago?
Today, I also received a small brownie, an orange, and a stout bottle of soy protein milk.
My heart warms.
Valentine's Day is on Sunday. At school, it is today.
This post just made its way to my wall from one of my loving students:
"Hi !! my beloved teacher ::
have a good weekend,on the other hand, Tmr i must join a sufficient economy of our faculty :: wooo !! miss u so much " see u on Monday ^^"
Did I mention I just saw her two hours ago?
Today, I also received a small brownie, an orange, and a stout bottle of soy protein milk.
My heart warms.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Ivory Towers
Today's Thoughts...
I love meeting new people. That’s what life overseas is about— plugging into the expat community as it grows and just livin it up. New faces, new places. You know the drill. So the other night I made some new friends. Really cool people. Enjoyed them a lot. Now you know whenever you get talking out here with recent grads like yourself, the inevitable topic comes up— where did you go to school? Now back in the States, I usually danced around this question. “I went to school in New Jersey.” “Er— a little place not too far from Trenton.” “I was on the East Coast for my four years.” Whatever I can eek out really that doesn’t sound pretentious or even remotely stuffy as tons of people always seem to assume about certain schools in the Northeast. Honestly for four years, you would have thought I was ashamed. Sort of whispering the name and cringing like at any moment I was expecting to get caught on Candid Camera and was desperately trying to avoid it. Here in Thailand most of the folks I meet are from so many places all over the globe that it never really matters if I drop the P-bomb every once in a while, so I usually don’t hesitate. It’s really no biggie. Every once in a while though, that’s not exactly the case.
Take the other night at dinner for instance. Fab dinner. Great folks. Like I said. Well I struck up a conversation with a really cool guy and as usual the convo turned to his recently graduated status. “Where’d you go?” I asked. He replied about a school just outside of C--, a city in the States. Awesome! “I thought about N--!” I chimed in before I could stop myself. Eeerrrr! Squeeze on the breaks, lady! I hadn’t felt this one out yet and here I was plowing full steam ahead into the dreaded topic. Here goes. Naturally, he went down the path of circuitous explanation— why his school was really great (I hadn’t denied such a thing at all), why N-- was absurdly overpriced (okay, can't deny that), and ultimately why his decision to go State rather than shell out the thousands and thousands necessary for N-- was the best choice he could have possibly made (again, no contest; I don’t know his life’s story). He of course summed it up: “I got a great education for four years for the price they pay for one. Ha. They’ll be payin their loans off the rest of their lives while I’m living mine. You see, it’s like that with all those upper level schools and the Ivies.” Red light. Red light. Mayday. Mayday.
“Really?” I asked, lifting a quizzical brow as I sipped my water. “Do go on.” “Well you know they just pay so much and it’s not worth it. It’s like they’re just paying for a name on a piece of paper and what does that mean any way?” “Job security?” I asked. I was not bristling. I repeat I was not bristling. “Well, not even. Look at the market now. Where you came from doesn’t matter. You all end up in the same place.” “Totally.” I nodded. He had a point. Here we were, in the same place, a tiny rickety food stand in Thailand. He pushed on. “Yeah, so I think you’re better off just steering clear of all that debt and getting a solid education elsewhere.” I remarked that I had a friend who was currently getting his PhD at N--. “What in something obscure like Near Eastern Studies?” he laughed. Actually, yes. He graduated from Georgetown and speaks Arabic fluently. He’s also lived in Morocco and Senegal where he worked on his Fulbright scholarship and plans to become a college professor at Brown." (Alright so I added the Brown part; forgive me.) “Oh, well don’t get me wrong N-- is a good school," he interjected. I merely smiled. “Where did you go?” he asked, eyes on his plate, now searching for a safe topic. Looking him in the eye, I told him. And cue... silence. Talk about awkward turtle.
Sigh. It’s not that I don’t get it. Believe me I do. I said all the same things when I was college shopping. But having been there, done that, and holding that "worthless piece of paper", I can’t say I regret a single minute-- er, penny.
I love meeting new people. That’s what life overseas is about— plugging into the expat community as it grows and just livin it up. New faces, new places. You know the drill. So the other night I made some new friends. Really cool people. Enjoyed them a lot. Now you know whenever you get talking out here with recent grads like yourself, the inevitable topic comes up— where did you go to school? Now back in the States, I usually danced around this question. “I went to school in New Jersey.” “Er— a little place not too far from Trenton.” “I was on the East Coast for my four years.” Whatever I can eek out really that doesn’t sound pretentious or even remotely stuffy as tons of people always seem to assume about certain schools in the Northeast. Honestly for four years, you would have thought I was ashamed. Sort of whispering the name and cringing like at any moment I was expecting to get caught on Candid Camera and was desperately trying to avoid it. Here in Thailand most of the folks I meet are from so many places all over the globe that it never really matters if I drop the P-bomb every once in a while, so I usually don’t hesitate. It’s really no biggie. Every once in a while though, that’s not exactly the case.
Take the other night at dinner for instance. Fab dinner. Great folks. Like I said. Well I struck up a conversation with a really cool guy and as usual the convo turned to his recently graduated status. “Where’d you go?” I asked. He replied about a school just outside of C--, a city in the States. Awesome! “I thought about N--!” I chimed in before I could stop myself. Eeerrrr! Squeeze on the breaks, lady! I hadn’t felt this one out yet and here I was plowing full steam ahead into the dreaded topic. Here goes. Naturally, he went down the path of circuitous explanation— why his school was really great (I hadn’t denied such a thing at all), why N-- was absurdly overpriced (okay, can't deny that), and ultimately why his decision to go State rather than shell out the thousands and thousands necessary for N-- was the best choice he could have possibly made (again, no contest; I don’t know his life’s story). He of course summed it up: “I got a great education for four years for the price they pay for one. Ha. They’ll be payin their loans off the rest of their lives while I’m living mine. You see, it’s like that with all those upper level schools and the Ivies.” Red light. Red light. Mayday. Mayday.
“Really?” I asked, lifting a quizzical brow as I sipped my water. “Do go on.” “Well you know they just pay so much and it’s not worth it. It’s like they’re just paying for a name on a piece of paper and what does that mean any way?” “Job security?” I asked. I was not bristling. I repeat I was not bristling. “Well, not even. Look at the market now. Where you came from doesn’t matter. You all end up in the same place.” “Totally.” I nodded. He had a point. Here we were, in the same place, a tiny rickety food stand in Thailand. He pushed on. “Yeah, so I think you’re better off just steering clear of all that debt and getting a solid education elsewhere.” I remarked that I had a friend who was currently getting his PhD at N--. “What in something obscure like Near Eastern Studies?” he laughed. Actually, yes. He graduated from Georgetown and speaks Arabic fluently. He’s also lived in Morocco and Senegal where he worked on his Fulbright scholarship and plans to become a college professor at Brown." (Alright so I added the Brown part; forgive me.) “Oh, well don’t get me wrong N-- is a good school," he interjected. I merely smiled. “Where did you go?” he asked, eyes on his plate, now searching for a safe topic. Looking him in the eye, I told him. And cue... silence. Talk about awkward turtle.
Sigh. It’s not that I don’t get it. Believe me I do. I said all the same things when I was college shopping. But having been there, done that, and holding that "worthless piece of paper", I can’t say I regret a single minute-- er, penny.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tents and Reggae Roots
Today's Thoughts...
Last weekend sort of flew by something like this:
Saturday, 9:30am: A crowd of some slightly hung over, some very hung over, some very sober friends all pile into a rented van to head into the mountains. We are equipped with four plastic bags, big bottles of water, and Dramamine. Check. Three very green looking individuals with large sunglasses nurse bottles of ginger ale and cups of ginger tea. Onto Pai!
1:30pm: Arrival in Pai. Stake out the camp site. Celebrations. Purchasings of absurd quantities of revelry materials. On to set up camp. Literally.
3:00pm: Tents are officially pitched on a large lot near the river. Scenic. 80 baht/ head. Fantastic.
4:00pm: Brunch/lunch/early dinner is sought and devoured. Momentary interlude with some mealy white worms floating in a cup of nam pbla , popular fish sauce served with most rice dishes. Confusion trying to explain the slithering creatures. More green faces. Hunt for a sandwich shop/bakery. Success.
6:00pm: Back to our guest house where Elena, Cresa, and I are staying while friends head to the tents to prepare for the festival night ahead. Wait. Actually, mai mii fai— black out at our guest house Baan Pai. Sighs. Such a beautiful place. Embers glow tauntingly beneath their lamp shades. Several sudden flickers give us hope, but alas, nothing. We resort to stealing candles from the lobby tables. Done and done.
7:00pm: Somewhat dressed, colors perhaps not quite matching, mascara and eyeliner on our cheeks, Elena and I sit like old ladies sipping our Sauvignon Blanc in the restaurant and lounge, clucking and remarking on tourist passersby. Remind me again when we turned 80 and bitter?
8:30pm: Joined by Cresa, we head to the tents and then pile into the ten-person van turned fifteen-person party mobile to head to the festival grounds nearby. Thai pop music videos blare on the in-car TV. The pulsating rhythms greet us at the door. We haggle successfully for lowered ticket prices, hand over a whopping 250 baht each and head inside.
9:15pm: Okay, now I actually head inside after a lengthy Spanish convo with a Brazilian couple and their friend selling their jewelry wares at the entrance to the festival. Advice on India, Brazil, Peru, and life abound. I suddenly feel home again, whisked back to the streets of Latin America. Wistfully, I part ways and run inside to find my compadres.
9:20pm: Inside I find sheer pandemonium. Hay litters the outdoor amphitheater; Chang beer and Sangsom whiskey stands line the sides and farang and Thai alike mill about in yellow, red, and green striped shirts and woven hats and fisherman pants. The faint smell of ganja hangs on the air. Ah, Reggae Festival 2010.
Approximately 2:45am: Music still throbbing in our ear drums, we make our way to the khao soy stand on the side of the road and down hefty bowls of the spicy northern curried soup. Then some random assortment of folks, no final word on numbers, pile back into the party van, some still toting reggae cups and bottles, others sleeping while talking, ridiculousness.
3:30am: Somehow sans Cresa who has gone on a 7-11 hunt, Elena, Becca, and I make our way in the suddenly frigid mountain air back to our guest houses. Within minutes of showering, we’re knocked out cold for the many hours of the night. Rest at last.
10:30am: Cresa, Elena, and I wake to the obnoxious sounds of backpackers shouting a conversation to one another from their opposite bungalows near our own. Something along the lines of: Man with unusually high voice: “So when I woke up this morning and meditated, I was just writing in my journal about going to Laos. I really think it will cleanse me and be such a moving experience.” Girl with feigned (?) enthusiasm: “Totally. I know what you mean. Thailand has just really helped me grow so much in these past three weeks. I might do Vietnam next.” Man: “Be careful of the motorbikes.” Girl: “I know! I really think Thailand needs to have more regulations for that. It’s just ridiculous what some people get away with on the roads here. So unsafe. I’d never get on one of those motorbike things.”
The three of us burst into uncontrollable laughter. Their conversation comes to a sudden stop. I think we might have laughed all the way back to Chiang Mai.
Last weekend sort of flew by something like this:
Saturday, 9:30am: A crowd of some slightly hung over, some very hung over, some very sober friends all pile into a rented van to head into the mountains. We are equipped with four plastic bags, big bottles of water, and Dramamine. Check. Three very green looking individuals with large sunglasses nurse bottles of ginger ale and cups of ginger tea. Onto Pai!
1:30pm: Arrival in Pai. Stake out the camp site. Celebrations. Purchasings of absurd quantities of revelry materials. On to set up camp. Literally.
3:00pm: Tents are officially pitched on a large lot near the river. Scenic. 80 baht/ head. Fantastic.
4:00pm: Brunch/lunch/early dinner is sought and devoured. Momentary interlude with some mealy white worms floating in a cup of nam pbla , popular fish sauce served with most rice dishes. Confusion trying to explain the slithering creatures. More green faces. Hunt for a sandwich shop/bakery. Success.
6:00pm: Back to our guest house where Elena, Cresa, and I are staying while friends head to the tents to prepare for the festival night ahead. Wait. Actually, mai mii fai— black out at our guest house Baan Pai. Sighs. Such a beautiful place. Embers glow tauntingly beneath their lamp shades. Several sudden flickers give us hope, but alas, nothing. We resort to stealing candles from the lobby tables. Done and done.
7:00pm: Somewhat dressed, colors perhaps not quite matching, mascara and eyeliner on our cheeks, Elena and I sit like old ladies sipping our Sauvignon Blanc in the restaurant and lounge, clucking and remarking on tourist passersby. Remind me again when we turned 80 and bitter?
8:30pm: Joined by Cresa, we head to the tents and then pile into the ten-person van turned fifteen-person party mobile to head to the festival grounds nearby. Thai pop music videos blare on the in-car TV. The pulsating rhythms greet us at the door. We haggle successfully for lowered ticket prices, hand over a whopping 250 baht each and head inside.
9:15pm: Okay, now I actually head inside after a lengthy Spanish convo with a Brazilian couple and their friend selling their jewelry wares at the entrance to the festival. Advice on India, Brazil, Peru, and life abound. I suddenly feel home again, whisked back to the streets of Latin America. Wistfully, I part ways and run inside to find my compadres.
9:20pm: Inside I find sheer pandemonium. Hay litters the outdoor amphitheater; Chang beer and Sangsom whiskey stands line the sides and farang and Thai alike mill about in yellow, red, and green striped shirts and woven hats and fisherman pants. The faint smell of ganja hangs on the air. Ah, Reggae Festival 2010.
Approximately 2:45am: Music still throbbing in our ear drums, we make our way to the khao soy stand on the side of the road and down hefty bowls of the spicy northern curried soup. Then some random assortment of folks, no final word on numbers, pile back into the party van, some still toting reggae cups and bottles, others sleeping while talking, ridiculousness.
3:30am: Somehow sans Cresa who has gone on a 7-11 hunt, Elena, Becca, and I make our way in the suddenly frigid mountain air back to our guest houses. Within minutes of showering, we’re knocked out cold for the many hours of the night. Rest at last.
10:30am: Cresa, Elena, and I wake to the obnoxious sounds of backpackers shouting a conversation to one another from their opposite bungalows near our own. Something along the lines of: Man with unusually high voice: “So when I woke up this morning and meditated, I was just writing in my journal about going to Laos. I really think it will cleanse me and be such a moving experience.” Girl with feigned (?) enthusiasm: “Totally. I know what you mean. Thailand has just really helped me grow so much in these past three weeks. I might do Vietnam next.” Man: “Be careful of the motorbikes.” Girl: “I know! I really think Thailand needs to have more regulations for that. It’s just ridiculous what some people get away with on the roads here. So unsafe. I’d never get on one of those motorbike things.”
The three of us burst into uncontrollable laughter. Their conversation comes to a sudden stop. I think we might have laughed all the way back to Chiang Mai.
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